


Home is where you are

by sherlockguineapig



Series: Fluffballs [3]
Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Adulting, Fluff, Growing Up, Kissing, Long-Distance Relationship, Long-Term Relationship, M/M, Surprises, The nuisances of long distance-flights, Travel, all the fluff and not so much plot, an ode to baking, being safe around each other, engagement thoughts creeping in, settling down, the joys of a hug, ties in with my two long stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23005225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockguineapig/pseuds/sherlockguineapig
Summary: April 2019, Jos is on his way home from another successful season in the IPL.Joe has a little surprise for him.Warning: here be tooth-rotting fluff about one of my absolute OtPs (plus gratuitous random Cooky mention, because ... it me). Have fun :)
Relationships: Jos Buttler/Joe Root
Series: Fluffballs [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1290362
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Home is where you are

„Time to destination: 30 minutes.”

_Make that 2 hours and 30 minutes until I’m finally home,_ Jos thinks with a sarcastic grin. As he tries to shift in his (less comfortable than usual, it does have its benefits when you’re going overseas with the entire England squad) airplane seat, he becomes uncomfortably aware just how long his day (or make that days, after all he left the hotel in Jaipur just after breakfast yesterday morning) has been. Somehow, he always forgets how badly he craves a shower after every flight.

_I could … no, not enough time for that, we’re already descending towards Manchester. I can at least get some stretches in, that should do the trick. Wonder how long it’s gonna take this time? There’s bound to be at least one knobhead who’ll stand up and block the aisle as soon as we’ve parked the airplane._

Some things never change, no matter where you are going by plane. Jos sighs, tries (not that it’s much use, the scented warm towel the stewards handed out about an hour ago has completely dried and feels more like a scratchy type of broomstick) to wipe the sweat off his back and stretches his arms above his head, holding the position for a while. Enjoys the brief relaxing feeling spreading down his arms.

Faint sunlight streams in through the partially closed window.

Jos pushes the blind open with one hand and looks out.

Manchester. His second home for almost six years, as much as that still surprises him. After all, he can still vividly recall that very first night in his new house after his sister and his parents had left. For about four hours, Jos lay flat on his back on an uncomfortably hard mattress, stared at the ceiling, felt (which made no sense, it was a quiet leafy green suburb after all) on edge at every unfamiliar sound from outdoors, absolutely unable to sleep no matter what he tried. To his eternal embarrassment, only a phone-call to Marcus, in the middle of the night (knowing his old captain and friend had his own issues with sleep), had settled him down enough (and he still feels embarrassed about it, however many times Marcus tells him not to worry).

_I got used to it, eventually. I mostly have Jim to thank for that. And now … I can say I actually love the place. I’ve discovered so many restaurants, cafés, a few pubs, parks that remind me a bit of home and I’ve even tried my hand at surfing. It will never be Somerset, true. _

_But it’s nice enough up here. And what’s more – my house won’t be empty today._

With that thought, Jos’ mildly exasperated mood takes a U-turn.

A smile spreads across his face as he takes his camera from his backpack, switches it on, presses it against the windowpane and takes a photo.

_I keep my promises, my muffin. _

_I can’t wait to see you again._

_\------------------------------_

Several hundred feet below and some kilometres away from Manchester Airport, Joe is in a bit of a mess. So, for that matter, are the kitchen and the table in the living room.

_Am I glad my lads can’t see me right now, _he thinks and sighs, balancing his recipe book with one hand while giving the large white plastic bowl in front of him a good stir with the electric mixer.

Bits of egg-flour-and-banana-stuff spit out in all directions from the bowl, form an interesting spatter of orange on the dark blue board lining the kitchen walls.

Joe blows a raspberry.

_And what’s stopping you from calling him?, _the part of his subconscious that always nags him about “acting his godsdamned age” (whatever that is supposed to mean at 28 and a half), points out.

“I,” Joe says to nobody in particular, puts the electric mixer down carefully, grabs a kitchen towel and wipes off the mess on the wall as thoroughly as he can and then – because he finally recognises what has been bothering him – throws the towel into the bin and presses “shuffle” on his iPod loudspeakers, “can do this on my own, thank you.”

And he should, he really should. It is not the first time Joe has tried his hand at banana bread, in fact Jimmy (and that’s one for the history books) was particularly happy with the “surprise cake” Joe presented him with for his 500th wicket. And it is also far from the first time Joe has been in the kitchen.

_And I won’t be able to reach him right now anyway, he’s got a Championship game and … when he sees he has one missed call from me, he’ll be worried unnecessarily, and I don’t want that. I don’t want to put him off. I need to do this on my own._

_I can’t always run to him when I need help._

“And it’s also definitely not the first time he’s come home from India.” Joe tells himself, shaking off that all-too-familiar pang of sadness that just hit him at that last thought. Knows he’s beaming. Switches the electric mixer on again, a little more careful this time, and adds cinnamon into the bowl. Sighs with relief as the mixture begins to take on a yellowish-brown shade. “I CAN do this after all. It’s just … I’m so bloody excited he’s back.” he tells the blackbird sitting on a branch of the oak tree outside the kitchen window.

_I really really missed you, Jossy._

Joe adds the finishing touches to the cake mixture, gives it another good stir and fills it into the tin. Has another look at the recipe book for good measure – 25 minutes, that’s more than enough, the house will smell of bananas by the time Jos gets back – and puts the cake into the oven.

“Go well.” he tells the cake after he closes the door.

_Now that’s something I won’t tell anyone. I’ve … Jim would have a lot to say about this._

It is only now Joe becomes aware of the clutter of saucepans, bowls, spoons and lids on the kitchen counters around him. As well as a faint smattering of flour, covering the stone surface of the counter and a fair bit of the carpet around his feet.

“Fuck’s sake.” Joe grumbles and looks at his watch. Should he start tidying up now? After all, there’s one important thing his banana bread still needs … _About one and a half hours until he’s home. I can clear up this mess afterwards. Let’s get that stencil I did yesterday._

Whistling along to the music, Joe hurries into his “home office” and grabs a large sheet of paper showing a cut-out of a dragon that looks – that was Joe’s first thought when he saw it – straight out of a fantasy novel. Carries it back to the kitchen and leaves it on a chair, in safe distance from the organised mess around him.

_Here’s hoping I got the shade of red right._

_One and a half hours._

_I missed you heaps, my muffin._

\-------------------------------------------

_Finally._

Jos throws his suitcase onto the back seat and slams the car door shut behind him. Leans against the side of the car for a while, enjoys the not entirely unpleasant fresh breeze ruffling his hair. The flag above his head – is that still an advert for the Lancashire Cricket Expo, they should have taken it down a while ago – clangs against its pole with a metallic sound that hurts Jos’ ears.

_I’m stuffed. And I need a shower. And … him._

Jos fishes his phone out of his back pocket, unlocks it and opens WhatsApp. Feels his heart skip a beat at the so familiar profile picture beaming back at him, wearing a ridiculously big white sun hat.

**Done, finally omw. c u soon :), **he types.

His phone meows (by now it would be ridiculous to ever change his message alert again, this has sort of become his signature tone) barely thirty seconds later.

Jos laughs as he opens the message, containing nothing but 30 smiling emojis.

A different kind of laugh, he thinks, observing himself for a second. I really reserve this one for you.

_It’s you after all._

Fascinating how happy a single thought can make you.

Unbidden, his thoughts circle back to the chat he had with Ben before they stepped on separate flights in New Delhi. _I can’t deny I thought about it. It’s going on four years, Nan and Pop already had Uncle Bernard at that stage. Different times though, but they were committed to each other. _

_And so are we. I … yes, I want to do this. I just need to speak to a few more people._

A familiar deep-seated happiness takes hold of Jos as he opens the car again, yawns for the sixteenth time today, gets in, buckles up and presses “Home” on the satnav.

_Yes, I’m going home. I’ll see you very very soon._

_My Joey._

\---------------------------------

Pins and needles shoot through Joe’s right arm and his neck feels like it has been stuck in a vice. Or whichever metaphor is appropriate, Joe can’t think straight right now. Cursing, he scrambles up from the couch, almost knocking over his – thankfully – empty cup of tea in the process.

_How the fuck did I fall asleep. I should’ve had a proper brew, not camomile tea. That would have … was that the doorbell or am I still … _

Joe pinches himself. A bit too hard, going by the angry red bruise spreading on his forearm. At least, it serves to bring his arm back to life again.

The doorbell rings again.

Joe is wide awake in a second. Shakes his arm vigorously, runs to the mirror in the hallway, tries his best to smooth his sleep-tousled hair into something more appropriate for his boyfriend who he hasn’t seen for over six weeks. Gives himself a once-over, sees a distinct blush spreading across his cheeks (and for once, doesn’t mind, this is an appropriate occasion after all) and beams at his reflection.

Turns on his heels, runs back to the kitchen, checks he has closed the windows and the dishwasher is actually running and sprints back outdoors.

“Sorry, Jossy! Had to make sure everything’s done!” he shouts while he catches his breath.

A familiar flutter in his chest.

The most beautiful laugh Joe has ever heard drifts in from his front porch. “Oh you shouldn’t have, muffin. It’s only me after all.”

“That’s exactly why I should have,” Joe giggles and opens the door. “It’s you. You deserve that and…oh.”

For a while, Jos and Joe stare at each other. Re-appreciate each other (Facetime just doesn’t do the trick), Jos’ silver-grey eyes roaming across Joe’s features while a (_breath-taking_) soft smile plays on his lips. “You okay, muffin?” he laughs quietly.

“I’m now.” Joe says softly (knows that Jos knows, Jos asked Ali to look after Joe after all), feels just how true that was. “I missed you heaps.” he adds in a quieter voice, tears sting at his eyelids.

“I missed you too.” Jos wraps Joe in a tight hug and kisses Joe’s ear.

Minutes – or so it seems to Joe – pass. Joe closes his eyes, returns the hug as enthusiastically as possible, shivers slightly as he feels his boyfriend’s heartbeat.

“Kiss me, muffin?” he asks with a giggle.

“You bet.” Jos’ voice is low.

One (exquisitely long) tender kiss later, Jos looks back at Joe with a soft smile. “And I also really missed that. And … Joey? I know you’re up to something. Why does our hallway smell of bananas?” he laughs.

Joe’s heart pounds with excitement. “I’ve got a little surprise for you, my muffin. Leave your bags here, I … or do you want a shower right now?” he asks and sounds a little disappointed.

“I do, but show me, you’ve made me curious.” Jos smiles and takes Joe’s hand, lets himself get dragged into the living room. “Look!” Joe says importantly. “I’ve been up since 6 and I made all that just for you.”

The dining table is decorated with a brand-new yellow cloth, sprinkled with blue, green and orange flowers. In the middle, a cactus sits proudly inside a terracotta pot, bearing tiny white blossoms. Someone has tied a red and white ribbon around the pot, clashing magnificently with the tablecloth. “You…” “Told me you wanted a new cactus, Jossy, so I’ve bought you one. Happy coming-back-from-the-IPL-day. One of my favourite days of the year.” Joe grins.

“Thank you, Joey, that’s a lovely surprise and… what’s that? You made _that_ banana bread?” Jos can’t believe his eyes. “Wasn’t that for special occasions only? That’s what you told Jim after all.”

“Today _is _a special occasion,” Joe replies, slipping into his captain’s voice for a second. “And this isn’t just _the _banana bread. This is “my most favourite human being is finally home again” – banana bread.”

Jos takes a closer look at the cake, taking up most of a plate Joe found at John Lewis after he moved in with Jos nearly three years ago.

Several delicate red and white roses, drawn in frosting, adorn the top edge of the cake. And just underneath it, a beast straight out of a fantasy novel, in a very distinctive shade of burgundy.

Jos’ eyes fill with tears. “You … where did you learn to draw the Somerset Wyvern?” he whispers.

“I can draw, you know,” Joe points out and immediately stops as he recognises the emotions in his boyfriend’s voice. “Muffin. I wanted to make you feel special when you came home. I know this isn’t your proper home, it’s just Manchester – excuse me, part of me will always think of it as “just” Manchester”, so … I taught myself how to do it. I thought it would make _the _banana bread even better.” he explains with a beaming smile. “Do you like it?”

“I love it, Joey.” Jos whispers in a shaky voice. “That’s … a really beautiful surprise.”

Joe holds both arms out. “Come to me, muffin.” he laughs and embraces Jos. “I know, it’s a lot,” he whispers and strokes Jos’ back. “I know. And you don’t have to eat anything right now if you don’t want to. You can just do whatever you want, I’m up for it.”

“I need a shower, first of all,” Jos says after he has calmed down again. “That’s what you do when you come home from a long-distance flight. And Joey?”

“Yes?” Joe smiles.

“Home is where you are.” Jos says softly and kisses Joe’s nose.


End file.
